me.

It was a small fire, casting only a faint and flickering light, but
Dick, his eyes now used to the dusk, saw well the faces of the generals.
He knew at once which was Johnston, the chief. He seemed older than the
rest, sixty at least, but his skin was clear and ruddy, and the firm
face and massive jaw showed thought and power. Yet the countenance
appeared gloomy, as if overcast with care. Perhaps it was another omen!

By the side of Johnston sat a small but muscular man, swarthy, and in
early middle years. His face and gestures when he talked showed clearly
that he was of Latin blood. It was Beauregard, the victor of Bull Run,
now second in command here, and he made a striking contrast to the stern
and motionless Kentuckian who sat beside him and who was his chief.
There was no uneasy play of Johnston's hands, no shrugging of the
shoulders, no jerking of the head. He sat silent, his features a mask,
while he listened to his generals.

On the other side was Braxton Bragg, brother-in-law of Jefferson Davis,
who could never forget Bragg's kinship, and the service that he had done
fifteen years before at Buena Vista, when he had broken with his guns
the last of Santa Anna's squares, deciding the victory. By the side of
him was Hardee, the famous tactician, taught in the best schools of both
America and Europe. Then there was Polk, who, when a youth, had left the
army to enter the church and become a bishop, and who was now a soldier
again and a general. Next to the bishop-general sat the man who had been
Vice-President of the United States and who, if the Democracy had
held together would now have been in the chair of Lincoln, John C.
Breckinridge, called by his people the Magnificent, commonly accounted
the most splendid looking man in America.

"Bring the prisoner forward, Colonel Kenton," said General Johnston, a
general upon whom the South, with justice, rested great hopes.

Dick stepped forward at once and he held himself firmly, as he felt the
eyes of the six generals bent upon him. He was conscious even at the
moment that chance had given him a great opportunity. He was there to
see, while the military genius of the South planned in the shadow of a
dark ravine a blow which the six intended to be crushing.

"Where was the prisoner taken?" said Johnston to Colonel Kenton.

"Sergeant Robertson and three other men of my command seized him as he
was about to enter the Northern lines. He was coming from the dire